There is great
solemnity preserved at the opening: the sheriff, with well-ordained
costume and sword, sits at his honour's left, his deputy on the
right, and the very honourable clerk of the court just below, where
there can be no impediment during the process of feeding "the Court"
on very legal points of "nigger law." In truth, the solemnity of
this court, to those unacquainted with the tenor of legal
proceedings at the south, might have been misconstrued for something
more in keeping with justice.
The legal gentlemen, most modest of face, are seated round the bar-a
semicircular railing dividing their dignity from the common
spectator-waiting the reading of the docket. The clerk takes his
time about that, and seems a great favourite with the spectators,
who applaud his rising. He reads, the sheriff crying "order! order!"
while the judge learnedly examines his notes. Some consultation
takes place between several of the attorneys, which is interlarded
with remarks from the judge, who, with seeming satisfaction to all
parties, orders the case of B. C. R. K. Marston's writ of replevin
to be called and proceeded with. "As there are three fi fas," says
the junior attorney for the defendants, a very lean strippling of
the law, just working his way up in the world, "I object to the
manner of procedure; the case only involves a question of law, and
should be submitted to the special decision of the Court. It is not
a matter for a jury to decide upon," he concludes.
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